


Partners

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair





	Partners

As an angel, Aziraphale naturally loves all of God's creatures. He will, however, in the relative privacy of his own thoughts, admit that he likes some better than others. The gentle and ridiculous dodo was a favourite, and is still sorely missed. The giant sequoia is worthy of admiration for its pure size and girth, although Crowley's response of “that's what she said” when Aziraphale tried to explain this to him shows just how much respect demons have for such things. And even bacteria, capable of affecting everything so greatly despite their minuteness, are creatures to be commended. 

If he has his favourites, then Aziraphale also has those beings he likes just a little bit less, although that's a thought he doesn't let form even in his own mind. The hairdresser two doors down insists on bringing her little Pomeranian to work and, as he steps out of his shop, Aziraphale lowers his head and tries not to hear the yipping as the dog lifts its leg on the lamppost.

“Good morning!” The hairdresser, Ayesha, calls, forcing Aziraphale to look up. 

“Morning,” Aziraphale replies. The dog continues to urinate and yip simultaneously. 

“Looks like a nice day.” Ayesha points at the blue sky. Aziraphale knows, of course, that clouds are going to move in around lunchtime, leading to a drizzle then a substantial downpour by this evening, but he doesn't say that. 

“Looks like it.” 

Ayesha smiles. Believing the human custom of “chatting” to be finished, Aziraphale is about to escape when she continues, “I've been meaning to tell you, that car your partner drives is absolutely brilliant. Think he'd let me see it sometime? I love the classics.” 

“My...partner?” It can't be. Eight years have passed since the infant arrived on Earth, but he and Crowley have been discreet. They have shown no indication they are colluding, have let slip no hint they are working together to avoid what must not happen. Gabriel doesn't know. Crowley has assured Aziraphale his people don't know, either. So who is this “Ayesha”, who has been masquerading as a hairdresser with an annoying little dog? What secret power does she hold? And how could Aziraphale been so blind as to miss it?

“Yes. Oh!” Ayesha's face changes. Even with all his centuries of human experience, Aziraphale can't quite decipher the new expression. “Are you not...open about that?” 

“No, we are not!” To be so would be to ensure the very disaster they're trying to avoid, not to mention bring about unimaginable personal punishments for both Crowley and himself. As powerful as she must be, the creature calling herself Ayesha must know that? 

“Sorry, sorry. You can leave it with me, not to worry. I won't say a word.” She smiles. The dog finally finishes pissing—Aziraphale is too wound up to call it anything else—and Ayesha takes it back to the hairdressers'. Abandoning all plans for a quiet morning, Aziraphale dashes into his shop to inform Crowley of this emergency. 

Crowley is unimpressed. “You called me here for that? I was in the middle of disciplining the plants.” 

“This is disastrous!” Aziraphale exclaims, pacing the length of the back room. It doesn't take long. “We don't know who she is, we don't know what she thinks...”

“She thinks we're fucking.” 

“What?” Aziraphale stops mid-pace. 

“You know that's what humans in this century mean by 'partner.' Unless she thinks we're co-owners of the business, but that seems less likely.” That's true. Crowley doesn't look like a man who spends a lot of time around books. “She's right about the car, though. It's gorgeous.” 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He doesn't need to, but it's a habit he's picked up over the centuries. As usual, it serves to calm him, a little. “Well. I...That's good news, I suppose. I should have thought of it sooner.” Silly he didn't, really. Aziraphale is perfectly familiar with sex. It ranks somewhere below sushi and above chest-waxing in his catalogue of preferred human experiences, but it's been decades since he's bothered with it. 

Crowley goes back to his plants, leaving Aziraphale feeling foolish. He sets to reorganizing the books, to take his mind off his embarrassment, but his mind isn't so easily moved.

One of the problems he found with sex, something that made him reluctant to do it often, is that without feelings involved it just seems like a sticky mess. But it's pointless to develop feelings for a human. The very few human friends he made, back in the early days, have now been buried so long their bones are dust. The same would happen to anyone he allows himself to get close to. And how close could he really get when he can't tell anybody what he really is? 

The one constant, the only one who knows the truth about everything, has been Crowley. _My partner_ , Aziraphale thinks, and he is, in every way but the one Ayesha meant. He tries to picture it, the two of them together like that. The image comes to his mind more readily than he might have expected. _Hm_ , he says to himself, _fancy that_ , and he moves a pile of Jeffrey Archers into the back corner. 

***

Aziraphale doesn't bring it up again until the next time he and Crowley decide to get drunk, several weeks later. They're lolling in the back of the shop, Crowley more languorously than Aziraphale, when Aziraphale says, “Have you ever thought about the two of us having sex?” 

Crowley looks over, his demon eyes unfocused. At least, Aziraphale thinks they are. It's hard to tell. “Have you?” Crowley replies. Not until Ayesha put the idea in his mind. It's cropped up a few times since then, in quiet moments. Aziraphale isn't quite sure what he thinks of it.“Anyway,” Crowley goes on, before Aziraphale has chance to answer, “lust is one of mine. What we have isn't that, it's like your thing.” 

“My thing?” 

Crowley sighs loudly. “Come on, angel. You know what it's like between us. Don't make me say it.” 

Aziraphale knows what it's like for him. That, he's sure of. He loves Crowley, the way he loves dodos and sequoias and bacteria, but also more than that. Loving those things, and even loving little yipping dogs, is Aziraphale's duty. Loving Crowley is his choice. It's an insane choice, a choice that he himself doesn't understand a lot of the time, but it fills him completely, like nothing else does. And makes him happy, in a way nothing else in creation ever has. 

He doesn't have the words to articulate it properly in any language, human or celestial, but he doesn't need to. Crowley knows.

“Yeah, that way," Crowley says. He's not looking at Aziraphale, but Aziraphale knows him well enough that it doesn't matter. “For me, too.” He shudders. “And I never want to let shit like that pass my lips again, so you'd better remember it when we sober ourselves up.” 

Before Aziraphale can say anything, there's a knock at the front door. The shop is shut, and normally he would ignore it, but it seems like the kind thing to give Crowley a moment alone. 

“Hi,” Ayesha says, when Aziraphale opens the door. The Pomeranian yips at him. “Sorry to bother you, but I see your partner's car is here. If he has a second, I'd love to...”

“Tell her to come back when we're done fucking!” Crowley calls from the back. “You owe me one after that, angel.” 

Ayesha blinks, opens her mouth, then closes it again. 

“Perhaps later, my dear,” Aziraphale says, and gently shuts the door on her.


End file.
